A Bullet for Cinderella

by John D. MacDonald

  The tow truck had arrived. It stood heading away from the water, brakes locked and wheels blocked. The taut cable stretched down into the water. At dusk they had turned on the big spotlights on the tow truck. About twenty people watched from a place just down the lake shore. Captain Marion had herded them down there out of the way. More men had come out from town. They had been searching the area, prodding into the soft earth with long steel rods.

  The tired patrolman surfaced again and came to shore. “It ought to do it this time,” he said. “I got the hook around the rear axle and fastened back on the cable.” He stood in the light. He had scratched his arm on a rock. There was a sheen of water-diluted blood on his forearm.

  “Try her again,” Marion called.

  The winch began to whine again. The cable tightened visibly. I watched the drum. The cable began to come in a few feet at a time. The progress was uneven. At last, like some surfacing sea monster, the gray back of the car emerged from the water. The car was resting on its wheels. It came backward out of the water, streaming. Bright metal showed where it had been dragged against rocks. The big truck moved forward until the car was entirely on dry land. Water ran out of the car, runneling back into the lake. There was a smell of dampness and weed.

  “Get yourself dried off, Ben,” Marion said quietly. “George, open up that back end with a pry bar.”

  The cold, weary underwater swimmer went up to the cabin. A stocky man in uniform opened the trunk expertly. The county police who had arrived moved closer. I could hear the spectators talking excitedly to each other. The floodlights illuminated the interior of the trunk compartment brightly. There was drenched luggage in there, sodden clothing. Water was still running out of the trunk.

  Marion said, “Well, that’s one place they ain’t. Didn’t expect them to be. Tight fit for two of them. But you can see how it was. Those shirts and socks. That stuff wouldn’t jump out of the suitcase. He found them. After he killed them he just dumped their stuff in the back end, loose like. Then he aimed the car at the slope and started it up. It would be night and he wouldn’t have the car lights on because that would attract attention. She got going pretty good. He knew it was deep right off here. Hitting the water probably slowed it a lot, but once on the bottom it would keep right on going down the underwater slope until it wedged in those rocks where Ben found it.”

  I could see a woman’s red plastic purse in the back end. The red had stayed bright. It looked new enough to have been carried by Eloise yesterday. Captain Marion reached in and took it out. He unsnapped it and poured the water out of it. A corroded lipstick fell to the ground. Marion grunted as he bent over and picked it up. There was a wallet in the purse. He took it out and shook the water off it, and opened it. He studied the soaked cards.

  “Mrs. Warden’s, all right. Al, can you tow the car on into town all right?”

  “Sure, Captain.”

  “Well, when you get there, spread all this stuff out in the back end of the garage where it’ll get a chance to dry off.” In ten minutes the car had been lashed securely and towed off. I heard the tow truck motor labor as it went up the hill toward the road.

  “Captain,” Prine said, “shall I have the men keep looking? It’s getting too dark to do much good. They haven’t had any luck.”

  “Might as well save it until morning. Tom, can you detail some of your boys to help out in the morning?”

  “I can send a couple around.”

  The spectators had gone, most of them. A wiry little man came over to where we stood. The swimmer, back in uniform, had come down from the cabin. I could smell a strong reek of liquor on his breath. Somebody had evidently found a cold preventative for him.

  Prine said to the elderly little man, “I told you people to stay back there.”

  “Don’t you bark and show your teeth at me, boy. I want to talk to you fellows. Maybe you might learn something.”

  “Get off the—”

  “Hold it, Steve,” Captain Marion said in a mild voice. “What’s your name?”

  “Finister. Bert Finister. Looking for bodies, somebody said. That’s what you’re doing. You could listen to me. I live off back there, other side of the road. I do chores around here. Most of the camps. Everybody knows me. Carpentry work, plumbing, masonry. Put the docks in. Take ’em out in the fall. I know these camps.”

  “So you know the camps. If you were hunting for bodies, Finister, where would you look?”

  “I’m getting to that. I know the camps. I know the people that come stay in them. Knew George and Timmy Warden and their pa. Knew that Eloise, too. Knew when Timmy used to come up and swim all the way across to see Ruthie Stamm. Showing off, I guess. Then last year there was a fellow named Fitzmartin up here. Guess he rented this place from George. First time it was ever rented, and now it’s been sold, but that’s beside the point. You know there’s all this do-it-yourself stuff these days. Take’s the bread out of a man’s mouth. Takes honest work away from him. People do things theirself, they botch it all up. Me, I take it like an insult. That Fitzmartin, he was digging around. Didn’t know what he was doing. I figured whatever he was doing it was something he could hire me to do. Then by God, he trucks in cement and he knocks together some forms, and I be damned if he doesn’t cement the garage floor. Pretty fair job for an amateur. But it was taking bread out of my mouth, so I remember it. He put that floor in last May. If I was looking for any bodies I’d look under that floor because that Fitzmartin, he’s a mean-acting man. I come around to help and he chases me clean off the place. Walks me all the way up to the road with my arm twist up behind me and calls me a trespasser. Nobody ever called me that before. Folks are friendly up here. That man he just didn’t fit in at all. And I’m glad he wasn’t the one who bought it. The folks who bought it, people from Redding, they seem nice. Got two little kids. I let them know when they want anything done, they get hold of Bert Finister.”

  We stood in the glow of car lights. Captain Marion looked at Prine. “Fitzmartin?”

  “Runs the lumberyard for George. Shall I go get him?”

  “We better look first, Steve.”

  “That cement floor fooled me. I went over it carefully. It hadn’t been dug up and patched. It never occurred to me that the whole floor had been—”

  “I saw a pickax in the shed,” Captain Marion said. “Maybe you better swing it yourself, Steve. Maybe you need the workout.”

  “Yes, sir,” said a subdued Lieutenant Prine.

  They parked the cars so that the headlights made the inside of the garage as bright as a stage. Prine swung and grunted and sweated until Captain Marion decided the punishment was enough. Finister came back out of the darkness with another pick and a massive crowbar. The work began to go faster. A big slab was loosened. They pried it up, heaved it over out of the way, exposing black dirt. The men worked silently. For a long time it didn’t appear that they would get anywhere. I was out in the darkness having a cigarette when I heard someone say sharply, “Hold it!”

  I started toward the garage and then thought of what they might find and stopped where I was. The one called Ben came out into the night. He bent forward from the waist and gagged dryly. He stood up and coughed.

  “Find them?” I asked.

  “They found them. Prine says it’s her. He remembers the color of her hair.”

  I rode back in with Captain Marion. Prine had gone on ahead to pick up Fitzmartin. Captain Marion felt talkative.

  “It isn’t going to be too easy with this Fitzmartin. What can we prove that will stand up? Blackmail? We’d have to have the money and George’s testimony. Concealing the evidence of a crime? He can say George told him to put a cement floor in the garage. He can say he didn’t have any idea what was under it. No, it isn’t going to be as easy as Steve thinks it is. Sometimes Steve worries me. He gets so damn set in his mind. He isn’t flexible enough.”

  “But you think it was Fitzmartin.”

  “It has to be. He milked George clean dry.
George didn’t have much choice, I guess. Pay up or be exposed. If he was exposed, my guess is he would have gotten life. A good defense attorney could have brought out some things about Eloise that wouldn’t sound very pretty to a jury. George could have figured that when he ran out of money, Fitzmartin might—probably would—take off without saying a word. That would leave him free to walk around broke. Better than not walking around at all. What I can’t figure is how Fitzmartin got it in his head to look for those bodies. He wasn’t in this town when George killed the pair of them. I understand he was in prison camp with Timmy. But how would Timmy have any idea about a thing like that. There’s some angles to this we won’t know unless that Fitzmartin wants to talk.”

  I could sense the way his mind was turning. He glanced at me a couple of times.

  “You gave us some help, Howard. I grant that. But I don’t feel right about the way you fit in, either.”

  “What do you mean, Captain?”

  “Aren’t you just a little too damn convenient? You hit town and everything starts to pop open. Why is that?”

  “Coincidence, I guess.”

  “You knew Timmy and you know Fitzmartin. Maybe before you came here you knew Fitzmartin was milking George. Maybe that’s why you came here, Howard.”

  “I didn’t know anything about it.”

  “I’m not through with you, son. Don’t take yourself any notion to disappear. I want you where we can talk some more. You’re just too damn convenient in this whole thing.”

  At that moment, about a mile from the Hillston city limits, a call came over the radio. Marion answered it. I could barely decipher Prine’s Donald Duck voice over the small speaker.

  “He’s gone, Captain. Fitzmartin is gone. I’ve put out a description of him and his car. He was living in a shed at the rear of the lumberyard. All his personal stuff is gone. I felt the space heater. There was a little warmth left. He didn’t leave too long ago. How about road blocks?”

  “Damn it, Steve, I’ve told you before. Road blocks aren’t worth a damn around here. There’s too many roads. There just aren’t enough men and vehicles in this area to close all those roads. That stove could have been turned off three hours ago. You’d have to have your blocks set up right now this minute on every road within a hundred miles at least.”

  “What do you suggest, sir?” Prine said more humbly.

  “Wait and see if somebody picks him up.”

  Marion broke the connection. “Okay, Howard. You seem to know Fitzmartin pretty well. Where does he come from?”

  “Originally from Texas, I think.”

  “What’s his line of work?”

  “I think he worked in oil fields.”

  “Ever say anything about his relatives?”

  “He never talked very much.”

  “That’s not much help, I guess. Where can we drop you off?”

  “My car’s parked across the street from Peary’s office.”

  “Want to tell you that I appreciate you making a pretty good guess about this whole thing, Howard. I can’t help telling you I wonder just how much of it was guessing. And I wonder why you came here. I’d like it if you’d play the cards face up.”

  I had thought him amiable, mild, ineffectual. Hour by hour I had revised my opinion. I had thought Prine was the dangerous one. Prine was the fool. Captain Marion was something else entirely.

  “I’m not hiding anything, Captain.”

  “We’ve got George dead, and that Grassman missing, and we’ve got those two bodies, and now Fitzmartin on the run. It has to get tied together a little better before I feel right about it.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

  “I’m sorry you won’t help, son. Good night.”

  They drove away. It was after ten and I was famished. In twelve hours I would be picking Antoinette up. With luck, in twenty-four hours I would be gone. Either with her or alone. I didn’t know which it would be. Call it a form of monomania. I had thought about the money for too long. I had aimed toward it for too long. Tomorrow I would have it. Once I had it, maybe I could begin to think clearly again.

  I found a place to eat. I was just finishing when Brubaker came in. He sat beside me at the counter and gloomily flipped the menu open. “A hell of a long day,” he said.

  “It has been.”

  “And not over yet. At least they’re giving me time to eat. And then back on the job. Until God knows when. Nobody will get any sleep tonight.”

  “I thought Captain Marion said he’d just wait and hope Fitzmartin gets picked up.”

  “That’s right. I mean about the girl.”

  I suddenly felt very cold. “What girl?”

  “I thought you knew about that. The Stamm girl. Peary brought her back to town. He left her off at her car. They found her car parked on North Delaware. And nobody’s seen her since. Her old man is fit to be tied. Everybody is running around in circles.”

  I couldn’t finish the little bit of food that was left. I couldn’t drink the rest of my coffee. It was as though my throat had closed. I wondered how soon they’d add two and two. Ruth had been subdued and thoughtful when she left the lake. She would remember that Fitzmartin had acted strangely. She was the sort of person to do her own investigating. She was the sort of person who would go and talk to Fitzmartin. She would have no way of knowing that he was a killer. She would underestimate his cleverness. It wouldn’t take him long to learn that the car had been found, to learn that they were searching the area of the lake cabin. It was time to go. The string was running out. I could guess how it had happened with Grassman. Grassman, as a result of his quiet investigation, had made some sound guesses as to what had happened. He had paid a call on Fitzmartin. Maybe Grassman had wanted to cut himself in. Maybe he had made a search of the place where Fitzmartin lived while he was out. He could have found the large sum of money Fitz had extorted from George Warden. Fitz could have found him there and killed him, driven the body into town, and put it in my car.

  From the violence of the blow that had killed Grassman, it could be assumed that it was an unpremeditated killing. In the moment he killed Grassman, Fitz became more deeply involved. He waited, expecting me to be jailed for the Grassman murder. When I wasn’t, he would know that I had successfully gotten rid of the body. No one had spotted it in my car. Thus, when it was found, it could as readily be traced back to him as to me.

  Assuming he could be questioned about Grassman, then George became the weak link. George, by talking, could disclose Fitz’s motive for the Grassman murder. And so George had to die. Fitz had killed him boldly, taking his risk and getting away with it. Prine had been right about the towel.

  Just when he thinks everything has been taken care of, Ruth Stamm arrives. He can’t leave without her immediately spreading the alarm. He needs a grace period, time enough to get far away before someone else makes the same guess she has made. That left him with a choice. He could tie her up and leave her there. But that would be too clear an admission of guilt. He could take her with him. That would be awkward and risky. Or he could kill her. One more death wouldn’t make any difference in the final penalty.

  “You’re doing a lot of sweating,” Brubaker said. “It isn’t that hot in here.”

  I managed a feeble smile. I said I would see him around. I paid and left. It was too easy to visualize her dead, with raw new lumber stacked over her body, her dark red hair against the damp ground in the coolness of the night. What shocked me was the stunning sense of loss. It taught me that I had underestimated what she meant to me. I could not understand how she had come to mean so much, in so short a time. More than Charlotte had ever meant.

  • ELEVEN •

  I went directly to police headquarters. I demanded to see Captain Marion. After fifteen minutes they let me see him.

  I told him that I thought Ruth’s disappearance had something to do with Fitzmartin. He looked older and tireder. He nodded without surprise.

  He said, “She knew Geo
rge pretty well. Maybe she remembered something George said about Fitzmartin. So she tried to check it out herself. Maybe he’d think she was the only one who’d guess. I’ve thought of that, Howard. I don’t like it. I’ve got a crew out there searching the yard. I thought of something else, too. Maybe Grassman guessed. Maybe that’s why something happened to him. Thanks for coming in, Howard. I added it up about a half hour ago. I don’t like the total.”

  “Can I help in any way?”

  “You look like hell. You better try to get some sleep.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.”

  I drove back out to the motel. It no longer seemed important about meeting Antoinette in the morning. It didn’t matter any more. I had come here to Hillston to find treasure. I had thought I would find it buried in the ground. I had found it walking around, with dark red hair, with gray eyes, with a look of pride. And I hadn’t recognized it. I had acted like a fool. I had tried to play the role of thief. But it didn’t fit. It never would fit. The money meant nothing. Ruth meant everything. I had had a chance and I had lost it. They don’t give you two chances.

  I parked in front of my motel room. The office was dark, the No Vacancy sign lighted. Cars sat in the light of an uneasy moon, and the travelers slept.

  I unlocked the door with my key and stepped inside, reaching for the light switch. Something came out of the darkness and slammed against my jaw. Pain blossomed red behind my eyes, a skyrocket roaring was in my ears and I felt myself fall into nothingness.

  I came to in a brightly lighted place. I opened my eyes and saw nothing but the white glare and closed them quickly. The white glare hurt. My hands were behind me, fastened there somehow. I was in an awkward position. Something soft filled my mouth, holding it open.

  I opened my eyes again, squinting. I saw that I was in the small tile bathroom of the motel. The door was closed. I lay on my side on the floor. Earl Fitzmartin sat on the side of the tub. He wore khakis. He looked at me with those eyes like smoke. His pale colorless hair was tousled. I could sense at once that he had gone beyond the vague borderline of sanity. It was like being in a cage with an animal.